Sarah's Toy
by rslhilson
Summary: It's all fun and games...until it's not. Asthmatic!Wilson oneshot inspired by a haiku by srsly-no. House/Wilson friendship with House/Cuddy canon.


_Sarah's Toy_

**Author's Note: **Srsly_no was gracious enough to let me use one of her haikus from the Camp Sick!Wilson haiku challenge as inspiration. Hope I did it justice!

* * *

><p><span>Haiku by srsly_no:<span>  
><em>Wilson gasped for breath.<br>Sarah's toy, the inhaler,  
>gone from his bedside.<em>

House frowned down at the scene before him. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"I wash it before I use it," Wilson countered, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

"Unless you mean you're disinfecting it in a vat of Lysol before having it re-approved by the FDA…"

"House, it's not a big deal. She likes it; it's fun."

"It's moronic, for her _and _for you."

Wilson shrugged, going back to the newspaper he'd been reading before House had, as usual, barged uninvited into the condo. Cuddy was apparently hogging the TV for the _Grey's Anatomy _marathon on Lifetime, which had _apparently _made Wilson's flat screen infinitely more attractive to House.

House grimaced, still unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Sarah's furry white paws continuously swatting the inhaler as it skidded around the hardwood floor. "You _would _develop asthma after the age of 40," he muttered. "Too bad it wasn't cancer, or I'd have more fun with the irony."

"Oh, yes – I would've _much _preferred chemo over a couple of puffs of Advair."

"You're not the one who got called down to the ER to watch you getting high off Albuterol for the first time," House deadpanned.

Wilson guiltily cleared his throat. "I told them they didn't need to call anyone."

"And yet they did."

"Against my wishes."

House shrugged, collapsing onto the couch beside him and grabbing the remote. He flipped lazily through the channels, toggling between reruns of a hockey game and _The Real Housewives of New Jersey _before finally settling on the latter. "God, I miss this," he sighed melodramatically. "But what Cuddy lacks in HD, she makes up for in boobs."

Wilson set the newspaper aside, glancing sideways at the diagnostician. "I miss this, too," he said quietly.

House glanced back, but the reply on his tongue melted away as quickly as it formed. He returned his gaze to the television, his expression stoic. "This one's a real bitch," he said instead, nodding towards the woman on the screen.

"The Great Deflector strikes again," Wilson muttered. "Can't we talk about this?"

"About the _Real Housewives_? Yes. About your stupid sentimentalism? Nope."

"I _miss _this, House. You can't tell me that Cuddy 24/7 is better than having a beer and watching crap TV together every once in a while."

"Did I ever say that?" House retorted.

"There's this saying that actions speak louder than words. I'm inclined to believe it."

"If I'm supposed to feel guilty because I'm with Cuddy and you're _not _with the harpy, I don't."

Wilson crossed his arms, annoyed. "Since when does Sam have anything to do with this?"

"Since she dumped you at a wedding, and instead of moving on you decided to start wheezing your way to the ER." House turned back to the TV, unfazed. "Past experience may beg to differ, but your life going to hell isn't always my fault."

"Forget it." Wilson stood from the couch, his hands finding their usual place on his hips. "You're completely missing the point."

"That you're lonely and jealous to a pathetic degree?" House snapped. "I think I've got that down."

Barely avoiding Sarah as he whirled around, Wilson strode angrily away. "You know your way out," he called over his shoulder, and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

><p>The wheezing always hit hard.<p>

Wilson forced himself awake and struggled to sit up, somehow managing to turn on the bedside lamp as he fought for breath. His grip on the sheets tightened with his chest, and with a shaky hand he fumbled for the inhaler on the nightstand.

_Shit. _

Sarah. Where the hell was that stupid cat?

Drawing the comforter aside, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, dizzy with the effort. It was getting harder already, he knew, and he tried to remember the basics that he'd always tell his patients in the clinic.

_Just try to relax. Slow, deep breaths. _

But it was all a load of bullcrap, really, and his chest sounded like a fucking disaster, and wheezing coughs began to rip through his body as another painful breath caught in his throat. He hunched over in an attempt to draw in air, his shallow breaths barely adequate.

Before his mind even registered that the bedroom door had swung open and a strangely panicked voice was calling his name, a strong grip on his shoulder suddenly supported him upright, while another hand pressed a familiar device into his palm. Wilson shook the inhaler and brought it to his lips without pausing to think, helplessly waiting for the medicine to work. Still wheezing, he looked up at House, frightened brown eyes trying to find reassurance in the unwavering blue.

"You…you're…here…?"

He began to cough again, and House used his free hand to gently rub circles around his back. "Decided to crash on your couch. Shut up and breathe."

Wilson did as he was told, feeling his tense muscles slowly relax as the constriction in his lungs began to ease and his body slumped into the comfort of House's arm. At last, he gave a weak nod of thanks and moved back to lean against the pillows, exhausted.

House eyed him intently. "You're an idiot."

Wilson didn't argue, instead gesturing towards the inhaler that he'd tossed on the bed. "I hope you…washed that," he managed, still working on catching his breath.

"It's mine, not yours." House sighed as Wilson furrowed his brow in confusion, plopping himself down onto the edge of the bed and leaning forward to rub his leg. "I've been keeping one on me for a while."

Wilson's expression softened. "For me?" he asked.

"No, for your moronic cat when she gets bored. _Yes_, for you." House grimaced, his hand pausing mid-massage. "I guess this was payback."

"Payback? House, what are you – "

"I know what I've put you through all these years. I guess now I know how much it actually sucked." He glanced around the room, frowning. "I don't suppose Mr. Prepared keeps a stethoscope or spirometer in any of his ten billion first aid kits?"

"Not yet," Wilson admitted. Tentatively, he took a slow, steady breath, fighting against the lingering ache in his chest. It still required effort, but at least his wheezing seemed to have cleared.

"We should get you checked out," House pressed.

Wilson shook his head. "Honestly, House, I'm fine."

"Yeah, me too. Impaired breathing, bum leg…it's all quibbles." House dipped his head a little, thinking. "But you _were _right, before. I haven't been the greatest best friend ever. Which has technically been true for the past couple of decades, but…tapping Cuddy every night hasn't exactly been helping."

Choosing to neither agree nor disagree, Wilson cocked his head, forcing House to meet his gaze. "Why did you stay tonight?"

"Thought it'd be more fun to scare you in the morning than to watch Cuddy masturbate to Patrick Dempsey 'til 3am," House shrugged.

Wilson snorted. "I was going to ask about her, but…I guess that answers my question."

"She'll be fine. I told her I had some unfinished business to attend to."

"Unfinished business?"

"Hasn't anyone told you never to go to bed angry?"

Wilson had to smile at that, but his expression soon grew serious once more. "I'm not jealous of you and Cuddy, you know."

House nodded. "I know."

"I just…"

"Yeah. Me too." House reached over his shoulder to grab the inhaler from the bed, placing it in its proper place on the nightstand. "You should keep this."

Wilson smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I think I'd feel better knowing that you had it."

"Don't need it," House replied. He stood from the bed, leaning down to retrieve his cane from where he'd dropped it earlier. "I'm going cat-hunting. After which I'm filling your entire bathtub with Lysol…and a certain diabetic cat may or may not _tragically _drown."

"House!"

"Relax before you start dying again, will you? Saving your life twice in a ten-minute period wasn't part of the deal." He nodded towards Wilson. "You okay?"

Wilson took another deep breath, with greater ease this time, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

"Guess we're good here, then." House began to limp towards the doorway, but Wilson's voice called him back.

"House...thank you."

House paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "I seem to remember you spending more than one night doing the same crap for me."

Wilson gave a knowing smile. "I guess this makes us even, then."

"Sure." House tapped his cane on the floor, thinking. "So…Thursday nights?"

"What?"

"You and me, Thursday nights. If you think Cuddy's serious about reruns of McDreamy and McSteamy and the whole McFreakin' gang, you should see her when the _new _episodes air." House rolled his eyes in point. "We'll drink beer, watch hot bitches on TV…the works."

"Okay," Wilson chuckled. "Thursday nights, it is."

House turned around again, ready to leave, but Wilson once again interrupted his departure.

"Are you staying tonight?" he asked.

House shrugged. "I said I'm going cat-hunting, didn't I? Plus it's already two in the morning and the least you could do is make me pancakes for breakfast, so…yeah, I think I'm staying."

"Well, there's no reason for you to take the couch. You should sleep in your old room tonight, for your leg…and for old time's sake."

House hid a smile, nodding. "Okay."

"Okay. Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."

And as House finally left the room, Wilson tried not to think too much about the strangled _meow _coming from the other side of the door.


End file.
